Harry Potter and the Final Battle of Evil
by blueangel994
Summary: Seventh Year, HPB spoilers. It is Harry, Ron and Hermione's last and final year at Hogwarts...or is it? With so many different coverup stories and lies circulation among Order of the Phoenix members, Rufus Scrimgeour's despirate attempts at getting Harr
1. Chapter 1: Stitches and Guilt

**A/N:** Hello and welcome to my millionth fanfiction story of the seventh Harry Potter story. Actually, I think it's my second seventh year fic, but my millionth story in all. Please, I love constructive criticism in the reviews, so pretty please review. I'd really appreciate it. I hope this one is better and far more accurate than my "Harry Potter and the Tapestry of Black", although I'd have to say I'd like that title for this story. Anyway, please enjoy and review!

_**Harry Potter and the Final Battle of Evil**_

**Chapter One:**_ Stitches and Guilt_

It was dark, almost pitch-black save for the light ignited at the end of two wand-tips by the spell "Lumos". Nor were there any sounds except for the running of four feet against the dirt ground, heavy breathing from both men and the pounding of their hearts against their ear drums. Both men were sweating as if they were sitting in a muggle sauna, but in contact with the fridged air, the sweat almost instantly cooled and dried, leaving their foreheads, noses, ears and hands numb. But never did they stop. Never did they stop running despite their thirst, need for head and the stitches in their lungs and sides.

The taller man, not much taller though, with black hair that burshed the top of his shoulders, glanced over at the younger man beside him. His pale face was set with determination, but a hint of confusion and pure fear lined his eyes, his blonde hair flying out of his eyes, a few strands occasionally straying into his vision. He only brushed it aside without any thought.

The older man contemplated him for another moment, then turned his vision back to the path passing quickly beneath his feet. He felt the guilt of the secret he was keeping from the boy much more sharply than the growing stitch in his lungs. At the moment it was only the gilt of keeping it from the boy beside him who was under the false impression that the older one could be trusted. But later, when they had time to rest and think, he knew it would not only become guilt of the fact that he had kept it a secret from the boy beside him, but also from many who were also under the same false impression that the blonde-haired boy was, though the situation was much more intricate than it appeared on the surface.

The older man stumbled, not having payed attention to where he was going and the other hesitated, slowing his running foot-steps.

He looked up at the blonde-haired boy who was clearly contemplating whether or not to stop and help his mentor.

"Go," said the older man.

"But…" he began to argue.

"I said go! Don't forget what you have promised me!"

He watched as the boy continued on as he was told with only one more glance behind.

He took a moment only long enough to pick himself and his fallen wand back up, then continued on through a pair of thick trees and around a corner to catch up with his pupil.


	2. Chapter 2: Dementor's Kiss

**A/N**: hey yall, I just thought I'd post the second chapter even though I don't have any reviewers yet. Pretty please review if you're reading this, even anonomys review are alright! So ya. Please review and enjoy this next chapter.

**Chapter Two:**_ Dementor's Kiss_

Rufus Scrimgeour sat at his desk and stared blankly down at the memo before him, wondering what it was actually about since he'd read it half a dozen times now. He knew it contained some sort of information about a de-briefing that the head of the auror office was putting on and that he, as Minister of Magic, ought to attend to be sure of the going-ons in the ministry and the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But the only subject in his mind at the moment, which had been in his mind for the past few days, was what Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were doing on the night of the latter's death. They were up to something very important otherwise Dumbledore would not have let Harry Potter out of the security of the castle. Then again, and this thought had passed through Scrimgeour's mind more than once, maybe that was the reason Dumbledore allowed Harry with him that night, knowing that the security of the castle was no more, therefore he had taken Harry with him to keep him safe.

More than once, Rufus had though _yes, that must be it_, but once he really had time to process it through his mind, nothing added up. If Dumbledore knew of the danger to enter the castle that night, why did he attempt to keep Harry safe, but not the rest of the students? Why didn't he make the staff and aurors aware; even if he'd had the slightest inkling something might happen? Which made him wonder exactly what Dumbledore and Harry had been doing to make him think additional security and look-outs were not necessary. This put him back, for the hundredth time, at square one. What was it that the professor and pupil had been out doing together? What sort of importance did it hold so that Harry would not break a promise even to a dead man? A man who would never (despite Potter's ridiculous, "Dumbledore will have never truly left this school until none here are loyal to him" speech) return? Harry's reluctance to break the promise even then deepened Scrimgeour's curiousness of the situation. It was on his mind day and night and appeared in his dreams on an almost regular basis. He would rise or stoop to almost any level to get that so called "secret" out of Potter. Even if it meant feeding him the lie that Dumbledore was alive and a hostage of the ministry until Scrimgeour got what he wanted. They could bribe him that he could not see Dumbledore until he revealed the information Scrimgeour so desperately wanted.

He suddenly stood up, knocking his chair over and shaking his desk so badly that several of his possessions either fell over the edge in the front, or over on their sides on the surface.

That was it! That was the answer! Of course, he'd need ministry officials close to him that were trust-worthy enough to lie to the boy without giving away the truth. It was definantly ironic in a way. That Weasley boy that Fudge couldn't seem to stop talking about was certainly diligent and appeared to be completely loyal to the ministry. After what had happened at his mother's house over Christmas with the accusations and name-calling, not to mention food-flying, going on between the young man and his siblings, Scrimgeour was ready to curse any person or persons accusing Percy of anything other than loyalty to the ministry into oblivion.

Yes, Percy was the perfect Naive person he'd need and he trusted Dawlish with something like this beyond a doubt. Almost as much as he trusted Percy.

"Sir! Sir!" came an unfamiliar voice from a portrait by the door. It was the little man with the plain brown back-drop in his portrait who usually delivered messages with dignity between the Prime Minister and Scrimgeour. Now, however, he looked disheveled and frightened.

"Sir, it's the Prime Minister…he's been attacked!" the man in the portrait exclaimed.

The minister quickly stood up again, once again knocking his possessions everywhere, "What?"

"The Prime Minister has been attacked! I came as quickly as I could."

"By what?" he quickly asked, walking around his desk and pulling out his bag of floo-powder.

But the man in the portrait didn't seem to be listening. His eyes were wide with fright and staring else where, "I've only heard stories of what it feels like to be in their presence…to experience the kiss…"

But Scrimgeour was no longer listening to him. The Prime Minister had been attacked…but where? In his office, or maybe out on the streets? But of course, the Prime Minister worked late hours and seeing as though it was half-past midnight, Scrimgeour's chances of finding him in his office were very high.

He threw the emerald powder into the fire grate and immediately green flames sprung up. He stepped into them and clearly stated where he wanted to go. He then felt the sickening spinning sensation that he despised so much. He never did do well traveling by floo.

Suddenly he was standing, coated in ash and dust, in the middle of the Prime Minister's fire place.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

"Muggles," he muttered, putting a sealing charm on the door as he stepped onto the rug before realizing there was something very wrong with the situation.

He suddenly felt as if he had been doused in icy-cold water and he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him feel as if he'd never be happy again, as if everything was going to go badly.

After so many years of being an auror, he was familiar with this feeling, and knew right away that a Dementor was in the room. As he looked up, though, he saw there were four of them all surrounding a lump of something in the corner. With a horrid jolt that felt much like a punch in the stomach, he realized who that must be, laying there in the corner.

"No," he whispered, scrambling backward. Even though he had been head of the auror office, he couldn't produce a patronus to save his life; quite literally.

The dementors now began to sense him and just before they surrounded him, he caught sight of a pale-faced, white-eyed Prime Minister who was clearly worse than dead.

There it was, the rattling breath of death coming closer and closer as one of the dementors leaned in. Horrible memories formed in Scrimgeour's mind; some he was sure he'd never had before.

The scabbed, scaly hand of one dementor reached up and pulled the hood off of its self, revealing a large, round mouth where anyone else's face would have been.

"No," Scrimgeour whispered again, leaving his wand on the floor and covering his face.

The cold hands of the dementor grasped his arms and with what seemed unlimited strength, pulled them away from his head.

He was on the verge of passing out, but at least he'd die staring death in the face.


	3. Chapter 3: The Burrow

**A/N:** thanks so much for the review everyone! I really appreciate it! Here's the next chapter and unfortunately it's going to be the last for a while. I have school and stuff to deal with for a few more weeks, but that won't stop me from working on my ff's, just from actually posting them here. Thank you so much again for your reviews harry-an-ginny, Ashi and vampiregirl08. again, I appreciate it much! This chapter may be a little over-dramatic...but practice makes perfect and so do review...right? Constructive criticizm...just like CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Or...maybe not. Same ideals, though. Erm...back to reality. Please enjoy!

**Chapter Three:**_ The Burrow_

A black-haired teenage boy laid on his bed staring up at the ceiling. His face was void of his usual round-rimmed glasses, but his legendary lightning-bolt scar remained just visible beneath his messy bangs. He had not been able to sleep since he'd arrived his aunt and uncle's house; partially because his best friends, Ron and Hermione, kept asking him the same questions over and over again, ("Are you feeling alright?" "Dyou want something to eat?") and partially because he knew he'd be far from the horridly over-cleaned house in a few hours time, enjoying the last peaceful, careless day on earth. When he _had_ fallen asleep for the better part of half an hour, he'd only dreamt of ways he could murder Snape by the cruelest possible means when he met him.

His room was the cleanest it had ever been in two years, mainly because his two best friends were staying for the night. Hedwig's cage was open, but lacked the snowy-white owl and her droppings that usually went along with it. His trunk was still neatly packed sitting by his bedroom door from arriving earlier that day (he hadn't wanted to pack it again) and there were three more boxes that held whatever little-else he possessed. Ron and Hermione had helped him pack and, he checked his bed-side alarm-clock, they would help him leave in a little over and hours time, leaving nothing behind. The Dursleys still had no idea that they were leaving so early, but Lupin had agreed to meet them at the house and get them to the Burrow at two in the morning.

"Harry?" came a quiet voice from beside his bed. As he looked over, he saw Hermione's silhouette sit up.

"Hmmm?" he asked, a bit irritated that she had interrupted his train of thought.

"You should get some sleep, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow," she softly said, trying to be heard above Ron's snores, but not so loud that she would wake him.

"If you keep telling me that, I'll never have a chance to sleep."

She hesitated for a moment, but continued as if he hadn't said anything, "I know there must be a lot of thought going through your mind, Harry, but you have to try and get some rest before Lupin comes."

He didn't answer her. He felt numb, void of any emotion except pure hatred toward Snape. It seemed as if hate was the only feeling he'd ever known.

"Harry?" she asked.

He rolled over on his side toward the wall away from her. He knew it was a rude gesture, but he didn't very much care at the moment.

As much as he appreciated the thought, Harry hadn't wanted Ron and Hermione with him on his quest for the horcruxes. If either on of them were hurt or killed, he'd never be able to forgive himself. That's why, after the wedding was over, he was planning to slip out of the Burrow, drop his things off at Grimmauld Place and head to Godric's Hollow by himself. He didn't want anyone else he cared for to become a result of Voldemort's wrath.

He heard somebody move behind him and immediately knew it was Ron when he started talking.

"Lupin," he muttered.

Harry turned around to find Ron sitting up.

"What?" he whispered, despite the face he already knew what was said.

"Lupin," he murmured again, this time standing up and looking out of the window.

"Not only does he talk in his sleep, but he walks as well," Hermione irritably muttered, sitting up to watch Ron.

"Ron, go back to bed bef..." Harry started as a loud **_Crack_** echoed throughout Private Drive, shattering the silence with a car alarm, sounds of Mrs. Figg's angry cats and the barking of dogs, "Brilliant," Harry muttered, but so the others couldn't hear. He frowned, "How'd you..." he started, but was interrupted this time by Hermione.

"It doesn't matter how he knew Lupin was coming, Harry!" she whispered as if she were trying to get a very exciting bit of gossip out without being too loud about it, "It matters that he's an hour early!"

Harry turned his frown her way, "Why does that matter?" he asked, thinking he was glad Lupin had come early.

"Because I'm not ready!" she quietly exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes and threw his legs over the side of his bare bed. He peered down at his naked ankles and thought, _I definantly need new cloths_. His regular clothes he went out in where much too baggy for him, as they used to be Dudley's, but his pajamas...it was a wonder to him how he ever got them on in the first place. He'd had them since he was ten and now that he was nearing seventeen...

He quickly pulled his top off, tearing it in the process, opened his trunk and pulled out a shirt that was close to his size, ignoring Hermione's squeak of surprise and groan of irritation as she buried her face into her pillow.

"What?" he asked, pulling his P.J. bottoms off and grabbing jeans that were his size, "There's nothing here for you to see."

She looked at him when he'd finished, "You didn't have to change in front of me without warning first!" she said in a quiet voice.

He held a finger up to his lips, listening intently. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon was muttering curses under his breath and the high-pitched squeaking was unmistakably their old, rusting bed. Vernon was getting up to yell at Harry for a noise he hadn't made.

"Lay down," he loudly whispered as he himself layed down, facing away from the door, "Pretend you're asleep," he whispered as Ron, whether or not by accident, obeyed.

Harry listened as his uncle grumbled, stomping down the hall and jumped only slightly when he banged the door open.

"NOW SEE HERE!" he began, clearly not noticing none of them seemed to be awake, muchless aware enough to set off a large sound, "I'LL NOT TOLLERATE..." he began again as Harry sat up and looked at his uncle, acting as if he'd just woken up.

"What is it, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, noticing Ron and Hermione also were pretending to wake from a deep sleep. Ron was loudly yawning, earning a disgusted lok from Aunt Petunia who's horsey face had just appeared over Vernon's porkey shoulder, and Hermione was stretching her arms and back.

"I know it was you, boy!" Vernon growled, looking about the room with a suspicious expression as if he might find something illegal, "It was that same ruckus we heard two summers ago when we found you lurking in the garden '_listening to the news_' as you so called it."

Petunia gravely nodded her head in agreement as if the crime should be punishable by death.

"Well we haven't done anything," Harry said a little too forcefully.

Vernon glared at him, "Don't you..." he started in a quiet, threatening voice.

"We...didn't...DO IT!" Harry bellowed, only being able to think that he'd be on his way to the Burrow right now if the Dursley's hadn't heard Lupin.

"YOU KNOW YOU RUDDY WELL DID WITH THAT STICK OF YOURS!" Vernon yelled back.

"IT'S CALLED APPARATION AND YOU DON'T DO IT WITH A _MAGICAL WAND_," he said, stressing the words "magical" and "wand", giving Ron and Hermione something to laugh about when his aunt and uncle flinched. But at the moment Hermione had her hands over her ears and was muttering something incomprehensible.

"Just because you want to blame Harry for everything doesn't mean he does it," Ron hesitantly interjected, first looking at Harry, then looking up at Uncle Vernon as if he were the stupidest thing on the planet.

His uncle swelled more than his normal size (_if it were humanly possible, _Harry inwardly chuckled,) and turned his normal shade of magenta before turning on his heel and stomping back to his bedroom, nearly knocking over Aunt Petunia in the process.

Petunia, to Harry's surprise, only gave him a curious expression before disappearing into the hallway, revealing, fat as ever, Dudley Dursley.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked Hermione as a silver otter protruded out of her wand tip.

"I'm making sure it's really Lupin," she said with a satisfied smile as her Patronus drifted past Dudley, who let out a terrified shriek but stayed where he was, and down the stairs, "For all we know, it could have just been someone from the Order keeping an eye on you, or it could have been a death eater."

"Snape," Harry automatically muttered, his insides burning and blistering with hatred.

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, "Maybe."

Harry gaped at her, "You really think so?" he asked, disbelieving.

She shrugged and looked away, "We can't rule out any possibilities now days, can we?"

He shook his head.

"It's best not to doubt anymore," she quietly added, as if "doubt" had been her biggest luggery before.

Harry only looked up when a silver wolf drifted through the door, causing Dudley to squeak with fright again.

"What do you want?" Harry irritably asked, grudgingly acknowledging his cousin and pointing his wand toward him.

Dudley froze, his eyes wide as saucers, "If... if you do m...magic (he winced, to Ron's delight), I...I'll tell m...mum," he said, eyeing the wand.

"Running to mummy now, are we?" Harry asked as Ron pulled his own wand out for pure intimidation on Dudley's part. Hermione already had her own out from conjuring the Patronus.

Dudley looked at the other two, then back at Harry, then contorted his face into what he must've thought was a brave expression, because he took a step toward Harry (Ron raised his wand), and with a steady voice said, "I'll give you the old..." he began.

Harry jumped off his bed, startling Dudley and pointing his wand between his eyes, causing him to go cross-eyed, "Yeah? Think that'll work with three against one? You should consider yourself lucky you still have your mum to go cry to, Dudders. I'll give you your old pig's tail back if you don't shut up!" he angrily shot at him.

In truth, he'd never learned the spell to give someone a tail, but Duddykins didn't know that.

"Harry," Hermione said in a tight, quiet voice with a hint of warning.

Dudley took a large amount of air in as if he were going to yell something and turned a shade of red his father would have been proud of, but Harry was too quick.

"Langlock," he lazily muttered and, just as Peeves had done, Dudley clutched his throat and gave Harry a hand gesture that made Hermione gasp.

"Harry!" she hissed, "You're going to be in trouble for that! You're underage _and_ you performed magic on a muggle!"

"I'd doubt if the ministry's concerned about underage magic, Hermione," Harry said, stowing his wand into his pocket and grabbing his invisibility cloak.

She continued as if he hadn't said anything, "Plus Dumbledore's not around anymore to bail you out..."

Harry froze, his heart beating madly. How could she say something like that in such a heartless, off-hand manner?

Ron cleared his throat, clearly telling Harry he knew where Hermione had gone wrong.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked her, coldness filling every crevice of his soul and voice.

She looked at him, "I only meant that..." she began.

"Only meant what?" Harry asked, dropping his cloak, "I'll tell you what it sounds like you meant, Hermione!" said Harry, his voice reaching a yelling level.

"Guys..." Ron quietly said.

They ignored him, "It sounded as though you don't care that Dumbledore is gone! As though his only purpose on this earth was to protect me from the ministry!"

"I only..." she tried again, close to tears. Harry didn't care.

"Guys..." Ron said more urgently.

"How respectful is that, Hermione? It sounds as though you have no respect what-so-ever for Dumbledore!" he yelled into her face, triumphantly watching the tears spill down her cheeks.

"And I'd hardly consider calling him by only his last name as respectful," came a calm voice by Harry's bedroom door, making him spin on his hell away from Hermione.

"Lupin," he began.

He chuckled, "Rowing? I suggest you two save it for the Burrow, we don't need that burden upon us while we travel."

Harry glared at Hermione before picking his cloak up. He watched as Lupin waved his wand and magically transferred their luggage and Harry's belongings to their destination.

"Hermione, you've passed your apparation test, I've heard?" Lupin asked.

She nodded, her face shining with tears. Harry felt a pang of guilt, but it only lasted until Hermione gave him a nasty glare.

"Alright, Harry and Ron, hold onto my arms, I trust Hermione can make it on her own."

Harry grabbed his right arm and Ron his left and after a moment of being compressed he found himself, with his heart bursting with such joy he hadn't felt in a very, very long time, standing outside of the one place he knew he could find refuge.

The Burrow.


End file.
